


Que Sera, Sera

by vanfeefee19



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: England is A Bastard, Florida just wants a dad, Hetalia OC, Historical Hetalia, M/M, OC, Other, Spain is a dumbass, possibly more OCs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2019-08-04 23:11:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16356092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanfeefee19/pseuds/vanfeefee19
Summary: Some boys need their fathers.OR:Florida chases Spain around in circles.





	1. Every Story has a Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> A fic I've been planning for a while. Not sure how often I'll be able to update it, but it'll be the most updated thing on my account for sure.

The sun. The sky. The Land.

Those were the first things he ever felt. The first things he could ever remember, as he opened his eyes and felt the warmth of motherly arms lifting him, and he just knew he was where he belonged.

The boy found himself, more often than not, looking for something else. He could feel a tug on his heart, like someone was calling for him. And just as fast as it came on, it became blurry as if the one calling couldn't focus on the thought of him. His mother would lift him, and tell him to look at the birds, or to watch the fish swim in the tide pools. She did everything to try and get the toddler to ignore the attempts of contact, trying to protect him. 

When he was not yet even created, she had watched the ship lay anchor in the bay, as a group of men rowed to the marshy grass, and planted a foreign flag in the ground of her home. Of her Land. She had held him as she got sick to her stomach as a strange man in silly pants declared the name of the baby she'd be soon to find, "La Florida", as He nodded along and picked a spring flower from the prickly grass. She'd felt the fear as He grabbed her by the hair and demanded to know what she was, and where his "island" was, and she denied any knowledge of a new Being, all while making an internal promise that she'd find the kid and hide them from Him. She had held her breath when she found the baby tucked in the base of a young tree, the green moss covering him a bit. She'd cried when he first called her by her name, repeating it over and over again as he giggled at her excitement until she loved "Utina" more than she thought she ever could. She had covered his eyes and watched as her people were beaten and raped, and turned to slaves and murdered before them. She'd held her tongue as she watched them start the beginnings of the fort, as they buried their own with dignity and threw her people to the side.

When he got old enough to properly communicate with the other kids, and he saw them with fathers and mothers and wondered aloud why he only had her. She tried to explain to him the circumstances, but there's only so much you can say to someone who's physically and mentally three. 

"You have one."

"Why isn't he here then?" he'd countered with a tilt to his head.

Shit. She hadn't come up with an excuse.  
"He's finding the perfect name for you, it's just taking a while." Wasn't the best excuse, but it also gave an excuse of why she had yet to give him a proper name.

It needed to be a perfect requiem. If that child needed anything, it was a poetic irony.

She tucked him in that night, and whispered a prayer upwards that Florida might, as he got older, realize that beings like themselves rarely even had one parent. She could try to explain to him how she had been raised, about how by the grace of her people she had learned to walk and talk as they taught her their beliefs. That might guilt him, she thought to herself, and decided against it. 

Utina walked to the edge of the camp, and saw the smoke rise from the beginnings of Castillo de San Marcos, and tried to imagine how much the Europeans would have had to fight for them to need stone fortresses to keep one another at bay. She often found herself wondering about the other Beings, and how much they must have gone through with their people to hate so much so easily. The woman wished them peace, in hopes it would give her and Florida peace.

Her child worried her. He was quieter than other kids his "age", and couldn't keep his weight. She blamed it on Him, and for the abuse he did to Florida's people and land. She found herself blaming Him a lot. Call her what you wish, but she was angry with a right to be. She had only crossed his path a few times, but every time she saw him, her blood boiled and her stomach turned. 

A few branches broke in front of her, and she tensed. She knew who was coming, it was why Florida had been sent to bed early. His young eyes didn't need to see this devil of a Being.

Spain walked out, green eyes darkened in the moonlight as he stepped up to her. He looked over her once, lip curling in distaste as she glared at him. 

"You actually need something this time? Or are you here to make sure I don't plan on messing up your pretty little town?" She snarled at him.

"Where's my colony?" He asked without missing a beat, not letting her distract him. "I can feel another Being, it keeps tugging and I tug back but it hides itself. Like it's unsure of where it is."

"I haven't found anyone else other than the other tribes on the Land. I don't know what you expect me to do," she lied, furrowing her brows. She'd have to start telling Florida he was only allowed to reach to her. This could get dangerous.

As the adult Beings continued their heated discussion, their volume and proximity to the toddler woke him up. Florida wiped at his eyes, and tried not to wobble as he stood. The tan skinned child peeked out to see them arguing, and wondered who the stranger with his eyes was. They were speaking in the language that anything like Florida, or Timacua, or Creek or any of the others could speak, so he had to be like them. Tentatively, he pulled on the tall man. He stopped himself mid-sentence, and walked to the bushes looking for a glimmer of eyes. Utina noticed, and began to panic. She couldn't let him find Florida. 'Go now, this isn't for you to hear,' she sent to the boy. He huffed slightly, before stopping the pull. By now, Spain was on the edge of the foliage, only mere inches from touching the young boy.

"Huh.. stopped.." Antonio turned to her, even angrier than he had been when he had arrived. "I hope you've been reading the Bible I gave you. It might save you, one day."

She tried to keep herself from rolling her eyes. She'd used it as kindling after a day of rain, and had no use for the European's violent God. Florida just tilted his head, having never even seen the book.

"I'll take my leave now.." He began to turn back to the trail he had come from. He'd go back to a proper home; with a roof and light and warmth, and she and her child would be stuck in a depressing scene. She hated him. "Look for my colony. It belongs to me, it's my job to ensure it's success." He walked East, towards Anastasia Island, towards the fort and the beginnings of a town. The hidden Being looked on with a sad remorse.

Once she was sure he was out of earshot, she turned to the bushes. "You can come out now," She ordered impatiently.

He hesitantly crawled from the dark, keeping his eyes on the ground so as to not make eye contact with her. He knew he was in trouble, but he still had one question on his mind:

"Was that my father?"

She swallowed thickly. He looked so scared, and she hadn't meant to make him so upset. She couldn't lie. "Yes."

Immediately, his face lit up. "Really?! What's his name? Why couldn't I meet him?"

She held her hand up, slowing him down so she could think of some answers. "His name is Spain, Antonio is what he was given." Hesitating, she thought back to conversations past. She thought back to her conversation with the Spaniard, and spoke fast. "He figured out your name. Christian." She almost laughed, an accidental blurt of though, and realized it was perfect. Something created by foreigners drowning out what was there.

He smiled a painful smile, looking in the direction of the Atlantic. Sighing, he mumbled "Christian" to himself a few times, trying it on his tongue. Satisfied, he turned back to his mother and hugged her leg. "I wanna go to bed now."

She nodded, lifting him and tucking the boy in. "Let's go then, Christian."


	2. The War of Jenkin's Ear

The ground pricked Christian's feet as he ran to the bay. He had felt another fleet of ships enter his waters, and had a clue as to who it was. There had been an ongoing war between Spain and England, and the British nation had had enough. 

Reaching the shore, he looked to his left to see those at the fort panicking. Though he was on the ground, he could still see heads running back and forth across the upper part of the fort; transporting ammunition and gunpowder from the room on the bottom floor.

This was not going to end well. 

With a sick stomach, Cristian quickly phased over to Anastasia Island, wanting to watch the whole battle from a safer spot. They were less likely to fight over here, and if the British decided to make camp on the island, he still knew it better. Right as he pushed back a bush to go to the island's beach, he heard and saw the first canon shot. 

This was going to be a heinous day. 

~~~

The sun had begun to set, and Christian had gotten even more ill. He wanted to call for Utina, but didn't want to get in trouble. A migraine racked his body, and the terror he'd experienced from the first day of battle had made him unable to eat. He wanted his mother and father to hold him and tell him it'd be ok, that this would be over by he morning. But he knew that would never happen. So sleep was allowed to overcome him, and carried him to a land of nightmares. He slept for a long time, too tired and hurt to force his eyes open. It was nightfall again before he was able to wake himself. 

Correction: someone woke him. 

When you've been raised to be afraid of a certain type of people, it tends to stick with you. Being woken from a fitful sleep by someone in that category is not the best way to start anything. 

Green met green, and as they both recognized that the other was a being and was aware of their own lack of humanity, a high-pitched scream escaped the boy. The other being panicked, and clamped a hand over the child's mouth. 

England was positive he had just found Spain's missing colony, and he intended on rubbing it in his face. 

~~~

Christian awoke a few hours later, severely disoriented and panicked. One of the "bad men" had him, was most likely just a room away, and was trying to kill his father. What a hell of a week he was turning out to have. 

He tried to get out of the bed, but found a chain attaching his left hand to a bedpost. Great. Christian tried to slow his breathing, beginning to loose his thinking skills as his mind was smothered by the sound of yelling and canon fire. He tried to call for Utina, but was too scared to focus long enough. Tears began to stream down Christian's face. 

"Mama.. papa," he sniffled, wiping his nose. "I'm sorry I didn't listen."

~~~

Early the next morning, England finally returned. He opened the door, and Christian immediately began to shake and cower, trying to hide himself against the side of the ship. 

'He's emaciated,' Arthur thought to himself as he pulled some hardtack from a cabinet. Walking over to the side of the bed and sitting down, he placed a hand on the boy. He started to whimper, and Arthur rolled his eyes. 

"Come here, love. I won't hurt you." Lie. He had only begun to hurt him the day before, when he started the siege of his heart city. Well, at least the kid couldn't speak English, his lack of any change in demeanor told him that much. He switched to the Language of the Land so he'd be understood. 

"Eat," Arthur ordered, thrusting the hardtack in Florida's face. The child looked at it with wide eyes, obviously confused. "Now, I don't have all day to wait with you," the Brit repeated. 

Tentatively out of fear, he grabbed the cracker and took a bite out of it. Christian grimaced, the nasty biscuit hurting his teeth. Still, he ate it to hide his hunger, and was glad to quiet his stomach. 

Arthur smiled at the boy, and thought of his Alfred and Francis's Matthew. He missed them. Not focusing on the fact that Florida was most definitely not either of the other colonies, he reached out and stroked his hair. 

Christian froze, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He looked up at the British nation with wide, curious eyes. 

Well, Arthur was not about to let this poor boy go now. Clearly he needed Arthur's help, and Arthur was going to assure him a success akin to Alfred's. If anything was coming out of this siege, it was Florida's belonging to England. 

Arthur stared into Christian's eyes, the green feeling almost like home to him. They reminded him of warm nights with the source of the emerald blaze, of battles fought hard, and of drunken days of neutrality. Oh, how Arthur missed those eyes. 

Shouting on the deck distracted him, and England left the colony to himself. Florida began to plan an escape, thinking as he ate. 

~~~

Christian had tried everything he could think of to get out of the chain. There was only one idea he had left, and it was the most painful. He had already scratched his wrist up from struggling in frustration, and was not looking forward to anything else. 

He didn't have a choice now. 

Stuffing the end of his shirt into his mouth so he didn't bite his tongue, he positioned himself so he could do this as easily as possible. He inhaled quickly, and yanked back on his thumb. 

He got nauseous as he held in the scream, allowing himself to fall into the bed as he began to cry again. The pain mixed with the ache of the siege, and Christian slammed his head into the bed, trying to make anything else hurt to distract his brain. No matter anyway, he was running out of time. 

He managed to calm himself, and carefully stood. Opening a window overlooking the bay, he tried to think of what to do with his hand so that he could swim. Eyes darting around the room, he settled on a sash normally used for a belt. Florida used his teeth and good hand to wrap the other up tightly, whimpering from the pain. 

Once he had secured himself so he wouldn't be distracted as he swam, he returned to the window, held his breath, and jumped. 

~~~

Florida felt the siege end from the safety of his mother's arms, over a month later. He felt no change in power, and was satisfied that his father still controlled his land, however strange the thought was. 

He thought back to the gentle touch of Arthur, and how comforting yet alien it had been, and hated himself for yearning for it more. Florida closed his eyes in comfort as he tried to ignore the foreboding thought that it wouldn't be the last time he'd run into the blond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wasn't what I had really planned for the second chapter, but I just started writing and this is how it ended up. Historically accurate, date wise and battle info.


	3. The Sea is Never Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I have to contact my bio dad so he'll disown me so that I can change my lastname to my stepdads and. Its stressing me out

Christian was loaded onto a small Navy vessel. Arthur hadn't wanted to risk the mixed boy to run off, so he was chained in the small jailcell below deck. They hadn't even left port and he felt like he was going to die. Arthur had barely spoken a word to him, refused to tell him anything or speak in any language other than English. It was sharp, and crude, and he could tell without even translating that the words spoken to him by the crew members were less than friendly. He felt like panicking. 

Yeah, panicking was good. Panicking, overthinking, and regretting never even telling his father hello. 

What was wrong with him!

First, he is stupid enough to get caught by the Europeans. Mother was also most likely worried about his safety, no doubt aware of who had caught him by now. Then, instead of acknowledging the man hed danced around for decades trying to know through bushes, he just walks away! He let Arthur grab him, painfully, and kept his head to the ground as he had been pulled to the docks. 

A really enjoyable memory. Definitely top three least favorite moments for Chris, up there with "stepped on an unreasonably large jellyfish because he didn't know what would happen" and "hid in the lavatory at the castillo because he didn't know the full layout". Wow. He really had a dumb streak going. 

Finally, he heard as the anchor was brought up from the water to rest starboard side of him, outside of his window. They began to sail northeast, to the land of brutish people who knew only how to take. 

Arthur never even stopped in to check on him until the second day they were out there. 

The crew members weren't allowed to speak directly to him or feed him, so that meant he was severely dehydrated and begging for food from anyone who passed by. Arthur should not have looked so much like a savior to him. He should not have been grateful for that white man's belated arrival, with a basket of food and a large flask of water. 

The door didn't even need to be closed, Chris was so preoocupied with eating. He heard a few people laughing at his desperate movements, but he now knew that his morale would be broken with his hunger. Arthur never ended up playing nice with him at all. 

~~~

Two years really did not matter much to a nation-being. It was little time, little to gain or loose. That's what most had thought at least. 

In the two years he had spent as a captive in London, Chris had watched confusedly as parliament argued about the colonies. Sure, he wasn't very good at supplying lots of valuebles, but he and his people still weren't worthless; surely he wasn't the cause of upset.

Technically, he was. He learned that the day he met Canada, or Matthew as he came to knew the blond. 

They were allowed to play together since they were both quiet, and to try and keep each other out of politics as much as possible. They were both essentially barren landscapes, but where Chris felt like he had a fever when you touched his forehead, Matthew was colder than ice. 

It was a calming contrast. The French colony was just as shy as the Spanish when it came to older nations, they were just so violent. So crude. A striking and ironic contrast when compared to their natives. 

Matthew had been the one to tell him why Arthur had been getting more violent, and tense. It was Matthew's twin, Alfred. 

The cost of the wars Britain fought with Spain and France were ironically what caused its own colony to revolt. Taxes were being forced onto Alfred's people, and they were angered that there was no representative from the English colonies in Parliament. 

So they started a war. 

And before Christopher knew it, he was back on a boat, but this time with companions. 

~~~

He had left himself on a boat, and now he was going back to himself on one. 

The waves crashed against the hull as the twins play-fought. He still couldn't speak enough English or Irish Gaelic to understand them, but still found it intertaining to watch as they went from calm games to violent yelling. 

At the wheel, Alistair steered the smaller warship west. Everyone seemed more grateful that there weren't any humans on the ship, and they could behave as they always have. The Scotsman scratched at his chin as the wind picked up, stubble scraping his neck ever so slightly. 

Wales was alright, Florida thought. Quiet and stoic, traits he valued in stressful times like these. Dillon was by far the most well behaved in the group, and though normally he would be snuggling up to Alistair for the familiarity of the stench of alcohol and spirit, Dillon was the only one who calmed his nerves. 

So the whole trip across the Atlantic he was either hidden away with the brunet or watching the clouds take shape on deck. It was only his second time crossing the great waterway and he still felt nervous about it. Matthew was coming along too, that way they could learn how to fight. It was funny. 

Only two years had passed but he had grown, physically, as well as Matthew. Now they both looked closer to ten than five. It was old enough for Arthur, at least. Old enough to fight. Old enough to kill. 

Christopher did not sleep very well on their journey to a land called "New York". He did vomit every night, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this 3 times over the last month, finished it with a migraine


End file.
